


A Ferret, a Snake, and a Mudblood Walk into a Cellar

by Lizziebearfanfiction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizziebearfanfiction/pseuds/Lizziebearfanfiction
Summary: A silly drabble to serve as comedic relief from darker, more serious fanfictions.--"I'm sorry," Hermione gasped. "I must have misheard you. Voldemort is where?""In the cellar," Harry answered through a mouthful of Mrs. Weasley's famous toffee pudding. "It's alright, 'Mione. He's about as useful as Ron was before the Felix Felicis trick... I dunno what happened, but he's a right mess.""You're joking. How is that possible? Harry...!""Go see for yourself," he said, grinning. "I'm serious, Hermione. It's over. Voldemort's in the bloody cellar with Malfoy and the rest of 'em, and there's more pudding if you'd like it, so..."Hermione whirled toward the cellar door, flustered and irritated. "Harry Potter, I'm going to go down there and see for myself... if this is a prank, I'll strangle you!"





	A Ferret, a Snake, and a Mudblood Walk into a Cellar

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! A brief introduction for my new readers:
> 
> My name is Lizzie, I'm terrible at updating on a schedule and proof-reading my work, and I usually write smut. I'm also college grad, English with Honors, and I take pride in writing like a semi-coherent human being. If you catch any mistakes, let me know. If you have any suggestions, constructive criticism, words of encouragement, or exclamations of shock and horror, feel free to comment.
> 
> If you like smut, consider reading my other work, Pleasure and Punishment. Otherwise, please enjoy this silly drabble! Not sure how much I’ll write, or when, but I’m pretty certain it’ll be an ongoing stress-relief project.
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: I have absolutely zero claim to any of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. I don't earn any money for my writing. I do this all for entertainment.

      It was not, to Hermione’s absolute horror, a prank. Right there, in plain view behind a few measly bars and wards, was the Dark Lord, the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, the serpentine abomination himself… hunched over a Muggle chessboard in their Gods-forsaken cellar. One pale spindle of a finger teased the head of the rightmost pawn in what Hermione assumed was consideration.

        “Oh, move already!”

        The petulant whine was more familiar than Hermione liked to admit, and it wasn’t as though she could be more shocked than she already was. Her eyes flicked, just for a split second, to the impertinent figure draped in the chair across from the dark wizard.

        “Really now, Draco,” Voldemort said, his voice a quiet hiss. “You disappoint me. Your impatience is why you always lose.”

“No,” came the drawling retort, “I lose because you bore me into giving up.”

        _Is… Is this really happening?_ How could Draco even consider speaking like that to the most merciless, cold-hearted, murderous monster to ever exist in the Wizarding World? Furthermore, why was Voldemort completely unbothered by it? _Am I losing my mind?_

“Well… Are you going to say anything? Join me, perhaps? I imagine that the--what do they call you? Ah, yes… The ‘brightest witch of her age’ will prove to be more of a challenge than the most irritating boy of his age.”

       “Are you talking to me?” Hermione whispered.

 “Who else?” Voldemort’s eyes, angled slivers of red, flicked from the board long enough to give her a cursory once-over. “Checkmate, Draco.”

       “Excellent.” Draco all but knocked over his chair in his enthusiasm to escape the table. “Here you go, Granger. Enjoy. These bloody Muggle things don’t even blow themselves up.” He flung himself onto the nearest of two cots off in the corner.

       “I…” Hermione was at a loss. What does one say in a situation like this? “How do I know you’re not going to attack me or something?”

       “We haven’t got wands,” the blond wizard scoffed. “We’ve barely eaten, and he--” he motioned to his shrouded companion with a jerk of his hand--”can barely lift a chess piece. Besides, I already tried to get at Potter. The wards blasted me halfway through the wall.”

       “An exaggeration, Draco,” Voldemort murmured. “Now, Miss Granger, I’m rather starved for intelligent competition.”

“And I’m starved for intelligent conversation,” Draco groaned. Hermione found herself gasping at the informality of his response. _Although… I suppose since Voldemort is apparently powerless, Draco isn't very worried._ It seemed short-sighted, though. What would happen to him if and when Voldemort regained his strength?

        This was a terrible idea, even if the offer to actually interact with such a formidable and objectively fascinating historical figure was enticing. However, nobody would have allowed her to so much as look in the direction of the cellar without warning her if there was real danger, and even that aside, she was half-convinced she was in some sort of fever dream.

“Erm… Alright. One game, I suppose. I’m going to fetch someone else to supervise and hold my wand, though. I don’t want either of you trying to grab it.”

        Voldemort hummed his agreement. Hermione backed away slowly at first, then bolted up the stairs and into the living room, where the entirety of the Weasley family (aside from Percy), Tonks, Remus, and Harry were milling about. “Erm, if anyone has a moment… I was hoping to get a hand downstairs.”

       “Did something happen?” Ron frowned. “They were harmless enough earlier, aside from when Malfoy tried to strangle Harry.”

Harry scoffed. Tonks laughed and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Nasty ward, isn’t it?”

       “How is everyone so calm?!” Hermione looked around the room, aghast. “Isn’t _anyone_ bothered by the fact that Lord Voldemort is in our cellar? And why, for Merlin’s sake, hasn’t he been turned over to the Ministry?!”

       Remus grimaced. “I understand, Hermione. The thing is, he’s harmless at the moment, and there are still things we need to know about, well, everything.”

Ron waved a hand to get her attention again. “What did you need? Did Malfoy say something? I can slug him again…”

       “No.” Hermione rubbed her eyes, trying not to think too hard about pretty much anything. “I wanted someone to come hold my wand. I’m going to beat Lord-bloody-Voldemort at a game of chess.”

 


End file.
